I’ve been struggling lately with just where exactly I fit.
It’s not quite an existential crisis, but maybe a mini one.
I do this periodically, like a snake shedding its skin.
Not that I’m a snake, or all that snakes symbolize in life and literature…
But in that my skin gets too tight and uncomfortable and I must wiggle free.
And what do I leave behind?
Ideas, emotions, beliefs even.

When I look at the compartments of my life I’m very happy in most of them.
I am soverymuch in love with homeschool.
So much so that I get weepy when I think of all the opportunities it has brought to our life, our days.
Marshall and I are at a place that’s a bit beyond comfortable and yet not mundane.
I’m working on crafts for Christmas and that satisfies a host of creative desires.
My real, true friendships – though fewer than I ever thought I’d have – are strong and meaningful.

But my house feels too big and my car feels too cumbersome.
I might not like my clothes, but my closet is bursting with color (and black).
(There is always lots of black).
I have dishes I never use and lamps I never turn on.
Two of them don’t even have lightbulbs.
And I wonder, if I will hold back a simple lamp from fulfilling its purpose, who else am I holding back?
They sit there, not even having the basics of what they need, something I could provide with a few dollars and yet.I.dont.
Maybe I’m over-thinking things.

But still I can’t quite seem to balance needs and wants, something I thought I’d have figured out by now.
And I sit here in clean clothes drinking filtered water and eating organic carrots.
And I just feel like my skin doesn’t fit, that something something just isn’t right,
though I can’t tell you exactly what that something is.
I do know that right now, in this moment, world seems so big and the hurt so palpable.
And I feel so small and helpless.